


Cruelest Month

by iskierka



Category: Angel The Series
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	Cruelest Month

Eyelashes flutter open. Awareness of the body next to hers, rhythmic breathing of sleep unruffled. Feels the Egyptian cotton sheets surrounding, warmth enveloping. Finds it just a triffle stifling, though does nothing about it. Takes a deep and lazy breath, slow and languid. Triffle stifling. Turn of phrase he might have said. Cool breeze wafts through open window, and she gathers sheet around her. Leaving the warm body of a man on the bed, a strange man. Faceless, really. Suave, sophisticate; met last night at a dinner party, owns many German automobiles, a winery, and the penthouse suite. 

Pads on bare feet on cold marble, on thick rug. Closes door of bedroom slightly, masculine scent is sterile. Faceless. There is no hidden meaning in the gilded; the sleek lines of expensive mementos, plush upholstery, the kitchen she passes with no sign of food. Anything edible, organic, ever being here. Sees the green painting from the corner of her eye and she turns. Stops. Looks. Green swathes on black. A big huge canvas painted black black black. It's enormous, ten feet by eleven. A painting. Black. With Green. 

She hasn't moved, and it's been ten minutes. Or something like that. Virginia remembers an exhibit, his arm so close. Arm in arm they wandered through the koi and kimonos, pottery. Ming vase. "A fine horse." Giggles, and damn but he smelled good. Tasted sweet. 

Bamboo, and gold-foil panels. Hungry afterwards, and they change their clothing, limo and Mercedes waved away. "Pick us up in three hours." And it's off in Chinatown, jeans and sweaters and easy laughter. 

"KNee HoW MAY!" The lady greets them with wide smile, her husband busy at the counter. Waiter's rude, but the food is great, and behind them is a big, golden dragon with a huge nostril and a moustache. It's a marvelous buffet, and she snorts the sugared coffee up her nose at his English guffaw. 

It's time to leave, they open up their fortunes. "Show me yours, I'll show you mine." And they leave the greasy table with the jasmine tea in steely pot. Ginger chicken in a takeout box. They're holding hands. 

"Oh, Wesley look." 

It's a Buddha, round and happy. Green, in robes. Enormous belly, bald head laughing. "Eees-ah Rei-HuL jade," the lady offers. 

-Maybe I'll get one, it looks adorably jolly. 

-Oh, no. It's traditionally given as a gift, for good luck. 

-In that case, I can't ask you for it either? 

-You lookin' to get lucky, eh? 

-Mmmm, it depends.... 

There's the breeze again, and there is the set of glass sliding doors she pushes gently stepping out into the garden. On the rooftop. April in Paris, wonderful cliche. Wishes the mood was akin to phrase. Connotation's lost to her. Looks at the carefully crafted patches of moss, and turf. Flowers. Green is everywhere, suddenly. It's coming up roses. The sun is warm, and treetops are visible from the view. Far removed. It's difficult, isn't it? To be, and of another. Possesion. 

//..insides falling out..// 

Oh, Wesley. 

fic index


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